


when there's nothing left to burn (you have to set yourself on fire)

by plinys



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 05:31:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10678698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: He tells himself that it’s because she looked like Ophelia.That the reason he’s so bothered by what happened on that island is because it was her face.Not because of the subversive yelling out as if in pain.





	when there's nothing left to burn (you have to set yourself on fire)

**Author's Note:**

> This is 90% Framework Fitz character study that happens to involve the two "canon" relationships he's in in various capacities, one a lot more low key than the other, but still there if you focus right. I'm not picking a shippy side, I just wanted to write Framework Fitz character study and elements of the canon ships slipped in to frame it. 
> 
> (Also can you believe me, plinys, writing AoS fic again? What a shock?)

_ “The only other person who  understands the weight of that is Ophelia.” _

His father’s words linger in his head hours later, even after pouring over the plans to Project Looking Glass, even after the successful elimination of the Patriot, even after drinks in Ophelia’s office, even after going back to their shared apartment to celebrate their success. 

When he tries to sleep the feeling of unease is still there, creeping in on him, the notion that something isn’t right. That perhaps a trigger didn’t need to be pulled, or that perhaps - 

Perhaps -

Perhaps - 

He tells himself that it’s because she looked like Ophelia. 

That the reason he’s so bothered by what happened on that island is because it was her face, twisted into expressions his love would never make, saying things that couldn’t possibly be true, belonging to a world so different from their own.

Not because she had been an innocent.

Not because he had been following unspoken orders.

Not because of the  _ subversive  _ yelling out as if in pain. 

Not because of the feeling of uncertain familiarity that had stuck him the moment their eyes met. 

Not because of the notion that he could love  _ her, _ that he would cross the universe for  _ her _ , that he was supposed to be with  _ her  _ not - 

Not -

Not - 

The other subversive that has replaced the loyal agent Skye insists that he is also from this other world. She also insists that this world isn’t real, that Ophelia isn’t real. 

A lie.

He knows it is a lie.

All subversives are able to do is lie.

The self doubt creeping in on him is part of a trap played by this traitor who calls herself Daisy, and by those from the other world who had once held prisoner and tortured the woman that he  _ loves _ . 

The woman he has loved for as long as he has known her. 

The woman he would die to protect. 

The  _ woman _ who he nearly gave his life for at the bottom of a - 

Of a - 

Of a - 

The woman lying next to him now. 

Ophelia has always slept like the dead. 

Eyes shut, back straight, arms at her sides, breathing barely there - the first time they had shared a bed it had worried him. There had been a nightmare, something foolish, he remembers reaching out to feel her pulse, to prove that she was alive and real. 

After getting her back that planet, from the world, it had been all he could do to assure himself that she was real. That it wasn’t him mind playing tricks on him again, as it done in the early days after the  _ pod _ broke and -

And -

And - 

His eyes burn, head aching suddenly, until it’s hard to think, hard to remember, hard to do much more than reassure himself that Ophelia is alive.

He reaches out for her pulse.

The notion that he may not feel a pulse under his finger tips, if they’re all numbers and data as the subversive insists then surely there would not be -

But no.

It is there.

Steady as always.

A one, two, rhythm against his fingertips.

A heartbeat that he knows like his own.

She wakes much like she sleeps, one second dead to the world, and next like a light switch turned on. Eyes wide open, wide awake. He needs at least two cups of tea before he can even be considered functional, but she just needs to open her eyes and suddenly. 

“It’s late, Leopold.” 

“I know. I’m sorry.” 

A weakness.

Apologizing is a weakness, something his father taught him better than, something that he need not feel. A waste of his time, a waste of emotional energy, a waste of - 

A waste of -

A waste of - 

“Did you have another nightmare?” 

“Yes,” he says, even though the truth is he hasn’t been able to fall asleep.

Too many thoughts caught up in his mind.

Guilt that eats away endlessly, when sentiment should not be felt, a waking nightmare. 

Her hands are cold when they come up to rub against his temple, a cool comfort, better than the blue pills she gets of him on the worse nights. The ones that make his mind blank, that takes all the pain and other thoughts away. 

When he hands slips away from his head, likely to go in search of those, he grabs at her wrist instead. Bringing it up to his lips, to press the ghost of a kiss there. 

A casual intimacy. 

Ophelia has always seemed to enjoy those. 

He tries to remembers the first time he saw her. 

The first moment he fell in love with her.

It was back at the Academy, back when it was SHIELD, and Hydra was still hiding under the cover waiting for the right moment to take their rightful place on top.  _ She _ had sat next to him, they’d been wearing matching sweaters light blue and she’d stuck up a conversation with him about -

About - 

About - 

It was back at the Academy, SHIELD just had fallen, and he’d taken over orchestrated a removal of all those loyal to SHIELD within the academy, kept those who were loyal to Hydra close to him, and she’d been there, in a dark green dress that little half smile she gets when everything is going perfectly, and she’d said - 

Said - 

Said  -

It was body, or not really a body, spread out over a table. Not unlike the dissection tables at the academy. A hand off to the side, a head not screwed on just right. Someone was explaining how it was would all be put together, indistinguishable from any other human being. A marvel of cybernetic technology a Life Model Decoy, and they’d called her -

Her - 

Her - 

“What was it this time,” Ophelia’s voice is controlled, it snaps him out of his thoughts.

She’s rolled over onto her side to look at him. He finds he cannot meet her gaze.

They don’t lie to each other, it is what makes them work together so well. 

Loyalty. 

Trust. 

Love.

“Nothing important.” 

She doesn’t believe him.

He can see the way her lips quick down ever so slightly into a frown.

It’s always the same five expressions with her. 

Half smile. 

Pride.

Contentment.  

Possessive.

Half frown. 

He once spent weeks categorizing each movement, each pigmentation, each microscopic twitch, back when he had first found himself lost on her. On the one woman that seemed to understand what they were doing to right the world, the one who listened to him and believed in his vision. 

The one  _ woman _ who didn’t mind sitting up with him, talking over Star Wars conspiracy theories and - 

And - 

And - 

The true aim of Hydra, the need to protect humanity from that they did not understand, the way precision and control could shape an entire world. 

“I love you,” he says, like it’s the first time, trying out the statement as if it is unfamiliar. 

As if he has not been saying it for years. 

As if he could not remember the first time he had said it, a desperate declaration in in their  _ lab _ \- 

Lab - 

Lab - 

In her office. 

When she’d come back to him safe and shaken but still the strong woman he knew and loved.

As if he did not have a ring tucked away in a corner of his lab when he knew she wouldn’t find it, waiting for the right moment to start the rest of their lives together. 

As if he wasn’t actually in love with her. 

Ophelia’s face is familiar, the way her lips quirk up ever so slightly, she’s never been good at emotions, never the type to fully express herself to give in even during their moments of pleasure, but here she smiles ever so slightly. 

“You do,” she replies. 

“I love you,” he says it again, this time more confident. 

He kisses her as if to prove this point, kisses her with a desperation that if he can do this here and now, such it will reassure him that this is real. That they are real, the realest thing in this world, the one thing that has gone right for him in this life. The one thing that is his completely and fully. 

Her lips are cold, but they are real. 

Her heartbeat is steady and unchanging, but it is real.

Her hands pull him towards her just like she did the first time, a memory of sitting on a couch together lucky to be alive, a memory that was real.

_ “You love her, don’t you?” _

  
  
  



End file.
